


days and days

by seb



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Break Up, Emetophobia, Overdosing, Suicide, vent fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-24
Updated: 2019-05-24
Packaged: 2020-03-13 09:33:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 925
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18938224
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/seb/pseuds/seb
Summary: this is very shittily written but im going through it. take the tags seriously. this is me projecting all over dirk. i dont think either character would act this way i just needed to let this out.ill take this opportunity to tell you all that i wont be writing anymore. im sorry to leave my works to rot but i cant do it.





	days and days

**Author's Note:**

> Suicide Prevention Hotline: 1-800-273-8255

Your head aches. 

No amount of ibuprofen lifts the pain. There’s a constant, muted roar in your ears that makes hearing anything hurt. Like a knife in the side of your head, you flinch at the sound of water dripping from the faucet. 

The water has gone cold. You shiver because of and despite it. Your clothes are soaked and you feel… you feel like lead. You feel like you’ve felt for days. Weeks? You don’t know. Time has not been your friend. Nothing has been your friend. 

You want to curl up in the tub and feel something. You want to rip away the skin where his hands have touched you. You want, you want, you want; but you never get what you want. You are never happy without consequences. 

“Dirk,” he said, voice wavering. It made you sick. Nausea churns your stomach just at the memory. “I love you, but…”

But. 

“But I—“ he starts again, then stops. Fiddles with his hands. His bright eyes won’t meet yours. His entire head is turned away. You fight the tears threatening to spill. “I don’t—  _ want _ this, I don’t—“

_ Want you _ , you hear. It bounces around in your head. You wait for the words to come out of his mouth. You wait for the slap across the face. 

“Things never changed,” he rushes out. “You were always, uh… and I…”

The once soothing lull of his voice makes you shudder. You’re terrified. You’re offended. You’re hurt. Bullet after bullet pierces your skin. 

“I think it’s time we parted ways,” he says. There’s finalty to it. It’s not a discussion. It’s a demand. “Don’t you?”

“Oh,” is all you can say. An exhale. Your last breath. You go cold as a corpse and the bastard smiles. 

Jake English in all his love and glory has had enough of you. Jake English, who coaxed you out of hiding, who held you in his arms, who earned your heart, has crushed it in his hands. His bloody teeth are mocking. His hands hold the tattered remains of all you’ve ever dreamt. 

He leaves with your future in his pocket. He leaves with the light and hope he always was. He leaves, and the darkness encompasses you. It forces its way into your throat and suffocates you. You’ve been struck by lighting and you can’t breathe. 

How could you have not seen this coming? A once in a lifetime moment isn’t all too uncommon, is it?

You feel his name embedded in your skin even now. You are branded property left to rot. You weren’t good enough. You never were. Why did you think this time would be different? How could you have been so naïve? So  _ stupid _ ?

It doesn’t matter now. He tells you about his life while you sit on a tiled floor, puking up the first meal you were able to get down in days. He shares lighthearted stories about… anything and everything, and you shake like the fear of god has been instilled in you on judgement day. 

Your friends tell you they’ve had enough. That hearing from you wasn’t worth the energy. That talking to you is pointless. You pretend until you can’t, then leave them be entirely. 

You claw at your skin until the water turns red. He hasn’t seen you since and you don’t think he’d recognize you. Your body is a bruise, your face sunken, bruised, bloody, barren. Your hair hasn’t stopped falling out. 

You’re going numb in the tub. Better late than never. 

It’s simple. You did your research. You know how this will end. 

You wonder who’ll find you. You wonder if anyone cares to seek you out at all. 

You knock back a shot of moonshine. It makes your nose sting and your throat burn.

Your hands shake as you pour out another. 

Four in and you grab the bottle. There isn’t many left, not after your injury. But it’s enough. It’ll have to be. 

The alcohol sits warm in your empty stomach, your veins alight. You swallow the pills dry. It hurts and the taste in your mouth sucks. It all sucks. When was killing yourself ever pleasant anyway?

You take another shot for good luck then make sure everything is set to where your notebook won’t be damaged. 

You always thought suicide notes were rather dramatic until you wrote one. You thought they were unnecessary until you began apologizing to everyone you knew, praising them for their love and patience up until you weren’t worth it anymore to them. You wrote some funny ideas for your funeral down to end on a lighter note. You don’t sign your name.

You sink deeper into the tub. Your brain sends shockwaves through your body as you move, and your eyes clench shut when the cold water hits your face. 

You lean your head back. You try to calm your racing thoughts. 

Panic sets in easily. All the things you haven’t said or done run through your mind. The tears come next. Your body goes heavy, your eyes droop closed. You can’t breathe, suddenly. You don’t know if it’s the panic attack, overdose, probable hypothermia, or all of the above. 

Jake’s smiling face as he stuck a knife between your ribs and twisted strikes you. You settle, hug your torso tightly. He’ll be happy with you out of the way. A lot of people will. You definitely will. 

Your brain is slow as molasses. There is no numbness, no pain. There is nothing but fear. 

You sink. 

You sleep. 

**Author's Note:**

> Suicide Prevention Hotline: 1-800-273-8255


End file.
